


The Price of Darkness

by Archangel_dare



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:38:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangel_dare/pseuds/Archangel_dare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the path of darkness has its price and the darkness will claim its debt when it sees fit, whether you are ready or not. Oliver looked down at the freshly marked grave and swore vengeance for the bright flame of life extinguished far too soon.<br/>'"Beloved daughter, sister, and friend,' they don't seem like enough to describe her, do they?"<br/>Post Arrow 4x01 ("Who's in the grave" theory)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Darkness

Oliver’s mind replayed the moment a thousand times. He felt an unsettling numbness: a Zen peace that had hushed over his body. He stared at the grave stone, reading the name etched in the stone over and over again, until he would never forget every mark and crack. It was such a thoughtless work carved by the mortician who had crafted hundreds of grave markers, but such a powerful symbol which embodied the essence of the person in that grave. Cold, dark, motionless, final, the body was now a personification of death. A twisted thought, but Oliver was relieved not to feel the soul crushing grip of guilt. This time it wasn’t his fault. This time he wasn’t responsible for bringing the darkness to his city. But the absence of overwhelming guilt didn’t mean that he didn’t still mourn the wasted life: a flame extinguished far too soon. 

................................................................................................................................................................................................................................... Calm in times of chaos, that was an excellent way to describe how Oliver felt when fighting. Perhaps this peaceful quiet was a gift granted from his time learning the League’s teachings. Perhaps the absence of the fear of death led to clear-headed focus. But all of his calm shattered when he heard a loud bang like a crackling firework and a scream. Every sound came rushing into his ears like a tsunami. His mind tried to process all the information, but he was disoriented by the sensory overload.

“Dad!” The loud scream rose above the noise. Oliver looked up at Damien Darhk who smirked down at the scene. Darhk set down the handgun he was holding and began to back away slowly; his smug smirk never leaving his face.

“Guess that’s what happens when you let the darkness in.” His smirk widened to a grin not even the Cheshire cat could match. Oliver wanted to run after him, but Diggle’s scream of his name stopped him. Oliver turned to see who was hurt, but froze as his brain processed the lie his eyes were feeding him.

Quentin Lance knelt on the pavement covered in blood, as shock and awe danced over his face. Quiet settled over the warehouse where Team Green Arrow and Darhk’s men had faced off. Oliver had felt rage when he’d seen Lance emerge from the shadows behind Damien Darhk; he would never again be called captain. Oliver had wanted to scream at the hypocrite of a man. Oliver could agree that he may have brought some of the darkness to Starling City, but Lance was helping the darkness infect the city. Shaking off his contempt for Lance, Oliver looked down at Lance’s knees and instantly his hands shook. Laurel lay in his lap, shivering and bleeding. Her blood stained her father’s hands and the pavement below her. Oliver took hurried steps toward her.

“Stay back!” Lance screamed and Oliver stopped. Diggle and Thea came to his side, each touching him briefly as a sign of comfort.

“She jumped in front.” Diggle whispered and Oliver nodded. The bullet was meant for Quentin. Oliver briefly wondered if the Lances were cursed by Time to suffer.

“Come on, baby girl. Stay with me! Just stay awake, Laurel!” Quentin rocked back and forth as tears streamed down his cheek. He touched her cheek but immediately pulled back when he saw the angry red stain slashed over her cheek. Laurel’s lips shook as she tried to form words passed the blood pooling in her throat. She coughed, spilling blood onto her chest and pulsing blood from the wound in her abdomen. Oliver walked to the other side of her, murmuring the prayer he had learned from Ra’s, asking the God of Death to grant her soul safe passage into the next world. He took her hand, half expecting Quentin to rip her body away, but he seemed to be too caught up in his own grief to notice anyone around him. Oliver looked up briefly and saw Diggle motioning toward his phone; Oliver shook his head. She’d be gone before anyone could reach them.

“Sa—, sa—, sar—” Laurel struggled. Oliver squeezed her hand and nodded; he promised her he would look after her newly resurrected sister. Laurel squeezed his hand faintly. He could feel tears welling in his eyes. He had always thought of Laurel as some immovable force of life, like his mother or his father; he had thought Laurel would always be there, especially for him. He had never once believed that Laurel would fade before he did, and, with how he’d treated her during their farce of a relationship, he never thought he would be the one by her side while she took her last breath. Oliver focused on her blue-green eyes, eyes that for some reason could see through everyone’s lies and deceit but his. He watched them fade into a murky gray as she took her last stuttering breath. Oliver sighed and inched his hands under her body, picking her up effortlessly. Quentin made a sound and Diggle and Thea tensed, ready for anything. Oliver turned his back and started to walk away.

“Her blood is on your hands.” He said to the wind, but everyone knew who Oliver was talking to. He walked to the van, trying not to throw up as he felt Laurel’s warm blood seeping into the leather of his gloves. As he settled into the back with Laurel’s body, he fought with himself debating on whether or not he should tell Sara about her sister’s death, as if she didn’t have enough to deal with coming back from the dead after a year.

.................................................................................................................................................................................................................... 

Oliver felt the presence walking up to the grave before he heard the crunching of grass and dead leaves. He breathed out and turned, expecting to see Barry Allen back to tell him that everyone was heading back. He was surprised instead to see dark waves flowing from underneath a black wide brimmed hat. His lips twitched up at the corners.

“We’ve been to one too many Lance girls’ funerals, haven’t we?” Nyssa’s husky voice filled the void space between them. Oliver made a sound in agreement; he wanted to be alone, but Nyssa had come all this way on his request. 

“I wonder if that is to always be their fate; one Lance girl dies and the other comes back in a sick cycle of rebirth.” To anyone else, Nyssa’s words would sound humorous in a dark and twisted way, but Oliver could hear the unshed tears hidden in Nyssa’s steel hardened voice. He wondered if she would allow herself to cry.

“Thank you for coming.”

“You did not have to ask, Oliver. I owe Laurel a great deal.” Oliver nodded, thinking about how to word his next question.

“I won’t find Lance with an arrow in his chest, will I?”

“No, I will exercise restraint,” Nyssa smirk, but her smirk disappeared as quickly as it had come. “if only for Sara’s sake. Despite her father’s involvement, I am sure she would still like to have her father breathing. Although, I am not entirely sure; she has changed much, as I told you she would.” Oliver grunted and knew his next question would sting.

“Have you—?” He left off, unsure of what to say, but knowing that Nyssa would understand.

“I have seen her; she is angry and hurt, channeling it through training, as all warriors do.” Nyssa looked over at the man standing beside her.

“You didn’t speak to her?” Oliver was a little surprised that Nyssa had not gone after Sara the moment she rose from the pit. Strangely enough, Nyssa had kept her distance while Oliver and Laurel had helped Sara recovered in Nanda Parbat and continued to keep her distance after Sara left to Coast City.

“No. Sara deserves a different life in the light of the world: a better life than I could ever give her.” Oliver nodded his head; it was often the same thought he had had when contemplating how to deal with his feelings for Felicity. Oliver grazed the back of his hand over the back of Nyssa’s; they understood each other, at times better than anyone ever would. They both knew what it was like to bring a shining beacon of hope and light into the darkness that devoured any good in its path and twisted it into unrecognizable demons. They stayed in comfortable silence staring at the tombstone, each lost in their own thoughts. After a few minutes, Nyssa spoke up.

“‘Beloved daughter, sister, and friend,’ they don’t seem like enough to describe her, do they? They seem too sterile to truly capture what a force she was.”’ Oliver grunted his agreement, not wanting to dissect what Laurel was to him at various points in his life.

“I will check in on Sara when I can.” 

“Thank you.” Oliver said as she walked away. Before she walked too far, she turned back.

“You know how I feel about vengeance.” Nyssa said with a little laughter in her voice. Oliver smirked; his dry lips cracking at the effort.

“If there is one thing I know about you, Nyssa, it’s your conviction on vengeance.” Nyssa smiled brightly. “I will kill him, without mercy.” His voice darkened to the haunting cruelty of “The Hood’s”

“See that you do. And do not say the prayer for his soul; let him rot in his beloved darkness. And let Quentin Lance follow after his master.” She walked towards the black car waiting for her at the gravel road that bisected the cemetery. He looked to the graves surrounding the freshly dug spot of earth, Tommy, Moira, and Sara’s old one, and whispered the promise of vengeance for another fallen loved one. Oliver took one last look at Laurel’s eternal home, then turned and walked to his motorcycle, waiting for him where Nyssa’s car had just left.


End file.
